It was dark in the chamber. No fires burned and the only source of light was a pool of crystalline water which stood in an ornately carved basin. The basin stood on four clawed feet and before it stood a large throne wrought of ebony. The throne did not look like it was made with the occupant's comfort in mind for the heavy black metal was worked into ridged spikes along the armrests and the back curved up in a serpentine manner, adorned with more spikes and jagged edges. The throne was occupied and cold restless eyes scanned the edges of the expansive room. Just beyond the figure's line of sight robed figures stood yet he knew they were there.
"Viddis." He spoke in soft levelled tones yet his voice carried to the edges of the vast room. One of the robed figures stepped forwards. His face was carefully hidden behind a mask of bone and he bowed respectfully when he reached the throne.
"Seddir-Ja," he continued, "Voraiss." His voice was cold and sibilant and when he paused at each name it was easy to imagine his tongue flickering out in a serpentine manner, tasting the air.
Two more robed figures joined the first and they too bowed before the throne.
"Look behind you, at the pool, and tell me…what do you see?" he asked in what was almost a lazy tone, pointing at the basin behind them. They turned to look and their eyes smarted beneath their masks as the comparatively bright light from the water met their eyes. As their eyes grew accustomed to the light the water before them began to cloud over, swaying gently although there was no wind to stir it. As it cleared they saw a stony edifice resting at the summit of a lofty hill. It was surrounded by high stone walls.
"That is Whiterun," said Viddis, pointing at the pool.
"Yes, recognize it, don't you?" replied the figure, "You've been there before if I recall correctly so getting your bearings once you arrive shouldn't be a problem."
"Is that where they've located her?" Seddir-Ja spoke up. Her scaly tail arched impatiently as she regarded the water.
"Not quite," replied the figure, "But that is where she is headed. They've predicted that she will reach Whiterun by tomorrow evening. Look upon the water again."
The water swirled and the image melted away before reforming a moment later. This time a winding hairpin road built into a slope appeared before them.
"That is the ambush point," the figure continued, "Your timing here is crucial. There must be no slip ups. But don't underestimate her; she possesses powerful magic abilities. Some of these she has yet to become aware of but those she is aware of make her someone not to underestimate."
"My Lord, we will not fail you," said Voraiss, a tall swarthy skinned Altmer as he took a step towards the throne, "My lightning bolts will bring her to her knees before she has a chance to speak." His voice was haughty and his manner was smug.
"No, Voraiss," said the figure coldly, "You are not to use spells. Foolish elf, if we are too obvious and brash in our methods, the empire will grow suspicious. Ulfric's untimely rebellion hasn't exactly helped that."
Ulfric's rebellion was common knowledge throughout Skyrim. In recent years, following the Great War between Man and Mer, the Nords' perception of the Empire was shifting, splitting Skyrim down the middle. Half the land were content to remain under Imperial rule while the other half, angered by the signing of the White-Gold Concordat and the outlawing of Talos worship, fell under Ulfric's ranks after the murder of the High King at his hands in Solitude. Since the rebellion the Empire's presence in Skyrim had increased significantly and their soldiers grew restless at the first signs of conflict.
"Then how, my Lord, do we bring her down?" asked Voraiss. The figure waved one black gloved hand and something whistled through the air, hurtling towards Voraiss. He ducked on instinct but when nothing more happened he raised his head. Hovering before him was a dagger. The hilt was covered with what looked like scales and a red orb was set into the pommel. The blade appeared to be made from bone and thin lines were etched into its surface, running the full length of it.
"Use this," instructed the figure. Voraiss hesitated.
"Go on, take it," he said, "Or don't. There are others who would be more than happy to take your place." Voraiss frowned, reaching out and grasping the hilt, pulling it from the air.
"Now go," said the figure, "Take the night passage and remember, it has taken us months to locate this girl so failure is not an option.
* * *
As Mid Year approached the nights grew to their mildest and the crops swayed in the cool night breeze as the wagon made its way along the winding road. The figure sitting at the front shivered, pulling her cloak tighter about herself, fingering the amulet at her neck. She looked across the plains at where the city sat nestled in the rolling green grasslands. Rising up from it was the mighty edifice of Dragonsreach, perched atop the hill like the dragon from which it took its name.
"How much further?" growled a voice behind her. An old Breton with wispy white hair, wearing worn merchant's clothes joined her at the front of the wagon.
"Not much further, Malkir," replied the woman, "There's Dragonsreach. We can't be more than a mile away. And didn't you mention a meadery at the bottom of this very hill? Honningbrew, wasn't it?" At these words the surly expression vanished from the Breton's face, replaced by a nostalgic faraway look.
"Ahh, honningbrew, it's been far too long since I last tasted such fine mead," he said.
"Well, why don't we make a quick stop there and get a few bottles," suggested the woman. The old Breton smiled.
"Yeah, why not?" he said, "A good bottle of mead is exactly what I need to get some warmth back into these old bones." Suddenly his smile vanished as he looked at the road ahead, "Hmph, looks like we've got trouble. Brechtje, ready a ward, just in case." Brechtje followed his gaze, spotting three figures in the gloom ahead. They had appeared so swiftly and silently that the night might have conjured them up.
"Is there any way we can avoid them?" asked Brechtje. Malkir shook his head.
"Terrain's too rough to make a detour here and we can't afford to turn back," he replied, "It took me too long to clean and prepare those furs and Zenithar knows we need the money those pelts will rake in." Brechtje took a breath, summoning her will as a halo of light formed around her palm. Malkir drew a steel dagger from his belt as they neared the figures who were now standing directly before them, blocking their path. The firelight from Malkir's torch shone on the bone masks the robed figures wore.
"Let us pass," said Malkir as they approached, "We want no trouble."
"I'm afraid we can't do that," said one of the figures, an Argonian judging by the tail that protruded from the small of her back, "We need to have a little word with Brechtje." Brechtje gasped. How did that Argonian woman know her name? To her knowledge she'd never met nor had any dealings with Argonians. She had of course heard of them; they were the lizard people of Black Marsh. And what was with the masks?
"Who are you?" asked Brechtje, "And how do you know my name?"
"We know more than just your name," said another of the robed figures, an Altmer, "You are the one we seek. As to why? It would be unfair to burden a doomed mind with such knowledge."
"What are you talking about?" asked Malkir, raising the dagger, "What do you plan to do to Brechtje?" The Altmer flicked his wrist and Malkir tensed up, struggling as invisible bonds rooted him to the spot.
"Fine then, old man, we'll make it simple so your aged mind will understand," said the Argonian, "Brechtje is in the way of our master's plans so we have been instructed to eliminate her." She nodded to the Altmer, "Waste no more time, Voraiss, do it."
Brechtje readied her magicka, flames leaping from her palm as the Altmer approached. He drew a dagger and held it before him. Brechtje released a gout of flame and the Altmer ran towards the flames conjuring a ward. The bright light burst through the flames and the blade rushed towards her chest. She dodged to the right and the Altmer followed, flanked on either side by the Argonian and the Nord. She released spell after spell. The fire spell caught the Nord in the chest and sent him flying backward while the other two kept chase.
The Altmer grinned smugly, "You might have taken Viddis but you're still outnumbered. Seddir-Ja, disarm her." The Argonian gathered a purple light around her palms and took aim, unleashing the spell. It caught Brechtje full in the chest, throwing her to the ground. She clutched at her chest as the spell burned and she felt her will weaken. She got to her feet with difficulty, breathing heavily. She tried to ready a ward but the magic fizzled and flickered. She tried again as the Altmer charged at her, thrusting the dagger before him.
"BRECHTJE!" cried Malkir, "GET OUT OF THERE!" Brechtje looked up and met the eyes of her attacker, throwing herself to one side as the blade slashed inches from her face. She crashed into a tree, quickly regaining her balance and sprinting off. She heard the sound of splintering wood behind her as the dagger cut through the bark. She ran back towards the wagon where she tugged at Malkir but he could not move. The spell held him fast. She tried to break the spell but her magicka fizzled out once more.
"Brechtje, get out of here," said Malkir, "There's nothing you can do."
"But," began Brechtje, her heart beating frantically in her chest.
"Go, now, or they'll kill us both," replied Malkir. He spotted the Altmer running towards them. "GO NOW!" he yelled. Brechtje ran, sprinting off down the hill.
Suddenly the Altmer materialized before her and she dodged, taking another path. But soon he appeared before her again, forcing her to change direction once more.
'He's toying with me.' The grim realisation swept through her.
The Altmer grinned. Now he had her. As a hunter stalks a deer in the forest, she was trapped.
Brechtje took a step backward and felt the yawning gap behind her. It was the river. She could no longer see the road or the wagon…or Malkir. She was lost.
"Now I have you," grinned the Altmer, "You've given us quite the run around, Nord. I advise you submit to your fate. Little mess and we can give what's left to you back to your old friend. That is, if Viddis and Seddir-Ja aren't having too much fun with him. Brechtje trembled as he took a step towards her. Her thoughts were racing. None of this made sense. Why did they want her? And why kill her? What had she done? She looked behind her and a grim thought passed over her. The rushing water surged beneath her, roaring in her ears. She couldn't think clearly.
"Don't even think about it," said the Altmer, following her gaze, "I don't fancy your chances. Best just let me finish my job. It'll be quicker than getting battered to bits." He raised the dagger. In that instant as the light from Masser glinted off the blade, Brechtje's mind made itself up and she turned, leaping from the cliff. Gravity took hold and she began to fall. She heard the Altmer behind her yell and something white hot pierced her back. Then her vision went black and her body fell limp as she broke the surface of the water. The Altmer cursed under his breath and turned on his heel. Something crunched beneath his boot as he stormed off, leaving the girl to her fate.